Kryptonite
by SimplisticDrone
Summary: A girl left for death. A robot grudgingly willing to save her. But for what purpose has her life been spared? Was her rescue a simple act of mercy, or performed for the benefit of her savior? Only time will tell.
1. 1

**Author's Note: **_A while ago (and by that, I mean several years previous), my close friend had an account on here, under __FictionEnforcer__. She wrote a story about Barricade and his rescuing of a human female named Penelope. It became somewhat popular (whatever that's defined as), but as she started on a sequel for "Kryptonite", she had to delete her account for multiple reasons, mainly that her mother had died. But now, several years later, she asked if I wanted to join her (embark on an epic journey, if you will) in the making of a reboot. She feels terrible for leaving her old series behind, and all its fans with it. So for those of you familiar with Barricade, Penelope, and yes, the antagonist(s) – the legacy continues!_

_This is, in fact, a _**reboot **_– not a reposting. So it's going to be slightly different from the way it and the original plot was written. I hope we don't disappoint. :(_

_If you have any questions – PM us, please! :D If you have any comments – review! :D_

_P.S: Many thanks to Kiba-The-Life-Guardian._ _She has done a great service to this fiction by instilling her knowledge and assistance within its lines. Please pay your respects. Now, onward, minions!_

* * *

_"Music to drown by. Now I know I'm in first class." _

- _Tommy Ryan, Titanic (1997)_

* * *

A sharp, blistering cold met her bound frame with a violent crash.

Struggling against the water dragging her into its dark clutches was futile.

But still she fought.

Being pulled into the sinister, harsh terrain of depths that went otherwise unexplored by mankind was a daunting thought. No one would find her. Her corpse would forever be at the mercy of her damp graveyard and the algae and microscopic organisms that was its resident's.

Despite her tied wrists and ankles, she writhed against her certain doom with a vigor that was respectable at best; pathetic at worst. But even her most valiant effort to break the surface of the lake and restore precious oxygen to dying lungs was not enough.

This was how she was going to die. She was to be wrenched deceased as a forgotten lump of blood, tissue, skin, and eventually bone, decaying at the bottom of this nameless water mass; alone, unloved. Somehow, she had hoped her death would have been more glorious than a simple drowning.

Her eyes wide and terrified, she desperately inhaled deeply – panic shredding through what remained of her sanity as her breath was met with piercing liquid. It mercilessly, remorselessly choked her last minimal supply of air pocketed within the vicinity of her constricting chest.

Jesus, she was scared. It should have been a comfort to know how she was going to die – like a Caliber to the head. Instead of a quick mercy as that, she was left with the excruciating pain of all traces of oxygen trapped inside being washed out as 75% of water in her body steadily increased to 100. She was left playing a guessing game with Death, determining the time of her demise and when it would come to grant her its blissful peace.

Her eyelids began to flutter closed, despite protest on her behalf. She had not the energy to watch the bubbles evaporate around her; had not the strength to see the last streaks of the moon's gentle light illuminate the floating particles surrounding her as darkness enveloped remaining traces of consciousness.

In her last moments of sight, a force large and heavy enough to impregnate a disturbance that could reach her, even between the distance of her and the outside, collided with the water.

Four optics, a deep crimson, blazed above her.

But it was too late.

Death overtook her; His spindly fingers wrapped their freezing digits about her innards until her contracted heart finally came to a rest. He coaxed her into a hiatus that defied the agony of her current experience; promised forever freedom from the woes of Life. And in those last moments of Life, metal connected its alien warmth with the flush of her back and began to frantically rise upwards.

But it was too late; her fate had been predetermined… It was too late… Too late… Too…


	2. 2

"_Marvin, you saved our lives!"  
"I know. Wretched, isn't it?"_

_- Trillian and Marvin, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005)_

* * *

She awoke to grass cushioning her bare side and a delicious heat resurrecting her from behind. She sighed contentedly, nestling closer to the warmth, reveling in its healing power. For outside of the nest of comfort lay sharp cold, reaching out to her with unforgiving palms and attempting to kiss her with its icy lips. She pulled closer away from winter's malicious grasp, shivering as a wind crossed over her defiantly and tugged at the dripping ringlets of her hair. She was nearly able to hide from the outside world as she rocked further into the sweet revival…

…Until her back brushed against a piece of metal.

She turned her head to the side, her wet folds of hair falling in stray angles around her face as she turned to look up at _what _was warming her. Had she not been so near death, she probably would have screamed. Any sane, normal person would have screamed. Instead, she grudgingly accepted the fact that there was a giant robot hovering over her, its chest pressed against her body. That should have been a little awkward, but again, death had a funny way of switching around priorities. Priority number one: stay alive. Priority number two: find out why there was a conscious machine cradling her against its grill.

…Grill?

She took a closer inspection of what exactly she was up against. Its torso was akin to that of a Saleen – the only reason she didn't assume it was a Mustang was because of SALEEN's emblem placed on the underside of its upper arm. She guessed it was sort of an unspoken plea to know what kind of vehicle it resembled. It had the bipedal body of a Homo Sapien – two legs, two arms, a head, chest, and such. But other than this slight similarity this was obviously not a creature of her planet. Four red optics, inspecting her in turn, was a major indicator of this realization.

And wow, was it beat to hell. It was overtaken with dings, scrapes, scratches, and little minor signs of a struggle. More apparent evidence of a rough time was a headlight missing, as the left side of his chest harbored one but the right was bare, minus a gaping hole where she supposed the LED was normally placed. One of its upper arm plates had POLICE printed on its surface (she could have scoffed at this) but the other spelled out PO IC . And upon further inspection, she saw three of its optical lenses were cracked, and one even missing its film of glass so the bare bulb beneath it shown with greater intensity. She almost could have felt pity if she were aware this being behind her flaunted an essence.

"What are you looking at?" it grumbled suspiciously. Again, her reaction to it remained unimpressive considering she barely had the energy to sit upright, let alone squeal to her heart's content. But dear God that was the deepest voice she had ever heard. With an "I'm sorry, I am currently unavailable for service, please take your bullshit to the next window and bug them, thank you." sort of no-nonsense tone you heard constantly at the DMV. Like Clint Eastwood. So he was obviously a 'he', if his voice was anything to go off of (or the testosterone that radiated from that measly question and his odd semblance to a Hollywood classic). Said voice was loud, booming, even though he was obviously having some sort of issue where the words that were uttered came out low and weak. She wasn't sure whether or not she should be fascinated or terrified of the variable of his sentience. Because there was enough impatience in the tone for her to deduct that this question was one created from his own intelligence; not a man-made recording.

"I-I've always h-had this pre-premonition that Asia w-was going to take over t-t-the world. I was looking f-for the "Made in China" s-s-sticker." she lied.

Another gust of winter's harsh gales swept the length of her body, her overall temperature dipping drastically as if in punishment for almost succeeding in finding comfort in its cruel presence. Another shiver crept up her spine, leaving tingling traces of ghost prickles tugging at her skin.

Five thick, flat, _long_ strips of metal came into view, circling around her and pressing her up against his strangely warm torso. Holy crap, was that a _hand_? She reached out with her own quivering fingers, then realizing that the ropes that had bound her had been sliced off. In fact, the rough material lay in tattered pieces around her from what she could see. She lightly traced her free hand down the inside of his "palm", a childlike curiosity filling her to the brim with the mortal longing of an explorer faced against a New World. She exhaled a breath she had been unaware she was holding in, feeling the warmth of even his hand. Wasn't metal supposed to be cold, especially in this weather? This only led her to the hypothesis that this creature had a life force, such as a human had a heart, which kept something flowing inside him to generate such heat.

So was that the core behind her?

At this point, she honestly didn't care. She just wanted to continue to be protected by her savior, this being that must have rescued her from the lake. Even if he didn't feel for her – even if he had his own agenda for her – she didn't want to heed the possible danger presented with being at the mercy of this gigantic… being. Wow, that was a polite way of titling him, as opposed to something more politically correct like "Freak" or "Big Ass Alien". She just wanted to revel in the fact that someone had bothered with her, especially in this intense of a situation.

"T-Thank you." she whispered, hoping he could hear her within the cocoon she was trapped inside. She dispensed the thought of being crushed by his immense hand – he had the full capability, she was susceptible to such a notion, but she reassured herself that she would have been dead already if he hadn't wanted her alive.

"Unnecessary gratitude; your survival is required." His voice, regardless of its robotic and choppy quality, was strained. As if he was in some sort of pain.

"Why's that?"

He didn't respond, and when she peered up at a gap in his digits, she saw him literally staring off into the distance. Great, so he was the brooding type.

"M-My name is Penelope." she offered affably, if not awkwardly, not sure how she could accomplish means of conversation as he didn't seem prone to responding to her last inquiry. She couldn't see his head clearly; only a silhouette that wasn't as darkened as his surroundings. With a coupling of trees framed behind him, she could see the top of his cranium was pointed in four places, and the bottom was just as jagged, but wider. She might have been enthralled by his almost human-like features (the eyes and mouth compiling the majority of examples she could think of) if he weren't so freaking scary.

"I did not ask of your title."

So not only did he stare off into distances like some sort of demented spin-off of a scene from Star Wars, but he was incapable of simplistic small talk. Maybe he _was_ just a machine. Or a very nonsocial entity. She figured it was a combination of both.

"I was just te-telling you in c-case." Penelope said, refusing to return to the overbearing silence that had occupied her last moments on Earth. She didn't know in case of what: in case she got lost and he hadn't acquired a doggy tag for her at that point? Luckily, he didn't pursue her plot hole.

She felt goosepimples skitter across her skin, interrupting her frantic thoughts and leading her to consider _why _the wind had the consistent ability to chill her so thoroughly when her clothes should have at least mildly protected her from the weather.

She looked down; her previous haze having lifted enough for her to gawk in horror at her nude body. Oops, apparently clothes weren't a luxury for her anymore.

Grappling with the fact that she was not only shirtless, but pants less as well, she snaked her arms over her chest self consciously and crossed her legs in an endeavor to conceal what Mr. Dark and Mysterious must have already seen by now. Leave it to _me_, Penelope mused sourly, to decide to sport the latest pieces from Victoria's Secret the day of my kidnapping.

With a mortifying indifference to her naked form, he muttered, "Don't bother covering yourself. You're only blocking the effects of my spark." Then, with barely suppressed contempt, he added, "Besides, I've already seen what you have to offer."

Great: that did nothing in the ongoing effort of salvaging her torn-to-pieces dignity. And how lovely was it that he found her humiliation a point of interest to dangle over her scarred pride? With chattering teeth, engendered from her refusal to curl up against his core (his spark?) now that she was conscious of her near-nudity, Penelope said, "I'm g-going to safely a-a-assume that since you're not human—" The giant snorted at this evident piece of information, "—that you didn't a-and are not g-going to _get off_ on my… vulnerability, we-we-we'll call it. S-S-So we can leave it a-at that."

"Fair enough." he growled in response, the vibrations of his words snarling and escaping in a ticklish rumbling through the systems above her.

He said nothing else. He didn't appear as if he were going to. She was starting to suspect he was only capable of responses, not of actually beginning intelligible discussions. The first contact with extra-terrestrial life ever by mankind, and she was stuck conversing with a moody robot that was as intent on continuing speech between them as Penelope was intent on staying naked in front of him; or nearly naked. Whatever. Because _he _was a '_he_', she had decided not long ago, and didn't deserve to see all of her voluptuous glory unless he was planning on putting a ring on her finger and coming home to meet the parents. A weird thought, especially considering that lack of a married life hadn't stopped her from hopping into bed to do the nasty before.

She derailed that trail of thought right away. Somehow, putting this creature and the mental image of "doing the nasty" in the same mind space wasn't spanning out well in terms of what her imagination was conjuring up for her disgust. "Well, it w-w-would seem that we've already skipped d-dinner and a mo-movie," she pointed out, again regretting the decision as her imagination ran rampant, "So what's next for m-me?"

"We shall be retreating from the waters' edge as soon as you've acquired the strength not to fall to hypothermia when detached from me."

Red flag. Red flag. _Red flag_. 'We'? Since when had "he" and "I" been conjoined to form "we"?

She almost raised protest against this formation of their titles, but then reminded herself that this robotic being _had_ saved her from a very cruel and pitiless death instigated by Mother Nature and her elements. Was she not entitled to his whim at this point? That was one of those arguments perfect for a college Human Rights course. She had never attended college.

And then she envisioned herself trying to disobey and run from Mr. Eleven Feet Taller than I. She concluded that, by force or of her own accord, she was going to be staying with him for as long as he wished, either way. So why make their reluctant companionship worse with a combination of screaming, flailing limbs, and on her part, injured appendixes?

Fine, if he wanted to play captor, she was going to find out as much about him as she deemed necessary: like everything. "You're an alien." It was an inquiry in the form of a statement. Penelope waited to see whether he would comply or disagree.

"Yes." he stated simply, with such authority that if he claimed the sky was green, shame on you for believing otherwise.

"Do they g-g-give you names where you c-come from?"

"Nothing you can pronounce."

"Try me." Penelope challenged affably, finding herself scooting through the damp grass below to ease her way closer to his chest. He had already pointed out that there was nothing he hadn't seen – so why suffer because of insecurities? She was cozy in the warmth spread from his "spark", which she had hypothesized was a heart slash radiation system for his kind. Whatever his kind was technically known or defined as.

At her request, an endless string of electrical squabble and mechanical hissing and altogether unintelligible gibberish filled the crisp winter air surrounding the couple. Penelope waited a moment after he finished with his no doubt sarcastic retort, despite it being in some otherworldly dialect, until uttering, "This is America. Not Neptune. E-English is preferred, thank you."

He, too, hesitated after her comeback. He was not one to respond to such blatant disrespect; in fact, he usually punished those that dared to refer to him with anything short of reverence. "Barricade." He deadpanned. She would have to name him at some point, and his ego had exclaimed that should she not know of his proper designation sooner, then later a time would present itself where a nickname would probably be initiated as a replacement for what he was known as on this dirt ball planet. That squishy nugget occupying her cranial unit that was claimed to be a "brain" probably wouldn't have been able to comprehend referring to him as some sort of distinguished mark in place of his title, anyhow.

"Penelope." she introduced in turn.

"You disclosed that _vital _material with me earlier."

"I was r-r-reinstating the fact."

"I'll be sure to recall."

"Y-You do that—Hey!"

Penelope yelped in surprise, something she thought had been outside of the reach of her limited capabilities. There was a pinch at the back of her neck, and then she felt a strange sensation run up the individual ridges of her spine. Suddenly, she felt sapped. Her head began to bob down as she lost the strength to hold it up, and an overwhelming desire to rest rejected any another formation of thoughts or attempt at action.

"You just… You just knocked me out, Barricade…" she grumbled lazily, following her half-hearted anger with a lackadaisical yawn. The epitome of intimidation, she was.

She curled in upon herself protectively and slipped off to sleepy land where peace was not only obtainable: it was complimentary. Penelope muttered an unintelligible insult at Barricade's cowardly means of shutting her up before consciousness eluded her grasp.


	3. 3

_I'd like to take the quick opportunity to thank several persons for their support thus far in the following story. These special people include:_

**Kiba-The-Life-Guardian  
Hoshi-hime  
Standout4Christ  
Ave'us  
Gurab  
Razorgaze  
Tai Prime  
Vodka Citron  
AkaiKurai  
DestinysWings  
Dyanasty Artemis  
SS-lover06**

_You guys rock our socks. And the original author is proud to say a few of her original readers have returned, and she appreciates them the most. In my case, I appreciate anyone willing to follow Barricade and Penelope's revised story :D_

* * *

"_Not exactly a soup question, now is it?"_

_- Jamal, Finding Forrester (2000)_

_

* * *

_

When next she awoke, it was to sunshine beaming its hot power down upon her susceptible features and prying its torrid fingers underneath her eyelids to garner attention. But her violated vision was plunged back into comfortable darkness as a shadow blocked the rays of Earth's primary heat source and spared her its blinding fury.

A single droplet upon her freckled cheek was what finally convinced her to join the realm of the living.

Penelope blinked once, her pupils shrinking upon contact with the outside world to adjust to the gloom of her environment. Her gaze focused upwards, meeting a cluster of old birch trees that were backed by few, yet ominous and large, storm clouds blotching an otherwise blue sky.

It was abnormal weather to appropriately accent her strange situation.

The next variable that registered to her foggy brain was pain. It wasn't significant enough to distract her from her inspection of this unrecognizable setting, but it awaited her on the fringe of her haze as if patiently anticipating its turn to be acknowledged.

The fact that she was still barely covered by soaked, skimpy lingerie when next she awoke was enough for her to ignore the giant robot in her peripheral and to swiftly resort to a bad mood. By some miracle, however, she didn't utter a word of protest. Not yet, anyways; she was exceptionally well-trained in the art of determining others' moods. Yet it didn't take an expert to discern that Barricade was having a rough morning.

The forest clearing she had opened her eyes to find herself in was desolate, in an eerie way where not even the fairy tale inclusion of birds chirping and bugs buzzing interrupted the undisturbed silence. It was haunting, to say the least, and to say the most, it wasn't doing wonders for her mood. Her consuming anger was added to with a generous helping of fear.

Memories came rushing back. She hadn't fallen asleep - she had been put asleep. She was coming to terms with the knowledge of an alien being having accomplished that, and to his defense, she felt more rested than she had for years leading up to and after the conclusion of what was supposed to have been her murder. This train of thought led to a score of questions flooding her mind - but those would have to be put down until such a time where the inquiries could be relieved appropriately. Unfortunately, in addition to her smarts, she was impatient, as well. She knew her abstinence concerning information wasn't going to last long. The only reason she didn't hop up and start demanding everything from her company was that she somehow figured starting out her relationship with her captor slash savior with an interrogation wasn't going to go well for either party. But she was on the verge, there was no doubt there.

Speaking of the devil, Barricade had taken up a rather odd stance at the edge of the clearing where the tree line grew thick. An oak or two stood isolated, surrounding the mech hunched on his hinds, but otherwise he faced the outside world from his small sanctuary with a skeptical optic and with no returning stare. He didn't appear to be taking in anything. It was almost as creepy a picture as the lack of sound permeating from the forest was overwhelming.

"Good morning, sunshine." Penelope called in a forced cheery voice.

As expected, she wasn't graced with a response. What she did get was a big ol' heap of nothing, dashed with a sprinkling of the robot not giving two shits that his little captive was still breathing. Penelope figured this little get-together was going to do _wonders _for her self-esteem.

"I'm still naked." she affirmed bluntly, refraining from standing up from her vulnerable laying position. She remembered hearing somewhere that when two mammals were at odds with one another, the weakest of the two rolled over with its belly face-up to show its obedience towards the alpha. Even with the difference in their species, the young woman was sure that every organism reverted back to simple ideology such as this animalistic viewpoint. Besides, brownie points wouldn't hurt.

"Yes, you are."

She was shocked she had even gotten that much out of him, but was not grateful for the reply. His voice was low, grating, and dangerous in that it seemed as though he was just vigorously awaiting an opportune moment to burst out into a screaming tirade.

Penelope knew, and felt, she had already reviewed this beast, but couldn't help but take a second, lingering look at him.

A ray of sunshine poured down unto the unlikely couple in the crisp air of the chilled morning upon a break in the clouds. The trees huddled about the pair were bare of their decorative leaves and the branches protruded from the nature like bare bones on a starving elder. Somewhere to her left was the rushing water of what she determined was either a small river or a large brook, and that comforted her only in that she would perhaps die of hunger, but not thirst.

She hated being this silent and coy. This was not her personality; she was out-going, talkative. That fact alone was probably what had caused her to become the victim of a drowning in the first place, but it was a core part of her that could not be reverted to anything else. This part of her prompted her to ask: "Can you tell me anything about what has happened?"

It was at this point she stood. She figured she had shown off her lesser position enough for it to be safe for her to do so. "I just want to know why it was necessary you saved me. You didn't have to, I'm assuming. Unless I'm special for some reason, which, let's face it—" The young woman passed a scrutinizing hand over her assets, "—I'm not. I just want a simple answer for a simple question, huh?"

Barricade turned. In the daytime, he was even scarier. At least the darkness hid a good portion of his features, but the brief allowance of sunlight revealed such extremities that had eluded Penelope's gaze earlier that black morning. His fangs were long and omnipresent, since they were apparently attached to the outside of his visage. Two thick metal bands sloping downwards over his piercing crimson eyes created a constantly fierce presence to an anyways fierce creature. Little was Penelope aware that this was how he appeared when he was relaxed.

Despite that he was no such thing. Barricade was simply in comatose. There was little he wanted to accomplish in his present state, and little he could if he so felt compelled. This was strong opposition in comparison to his usual characteristics. He was supposed to be savage, persistent – but never compliant with the circumstances quelling him; especially such a serious series of them.

Through a stroke of fate, Penelope gauged his dormant attitude towards the pains Earth had provided to him. She wasn't readily available to explain his predicament, but she saw a wounded soul when she was looking at one. It was like looking in a mirror.

"I don't want big, secret details. I just want to know what you want with me." she explained in what she prayed was a soft, maternal voice. Here was the part where all the truth came spilling out: she was to be used as a sex slave for intergalactic relations, or dissected for further study into the biological aspects of her race, or kept alive just to be further tormented before finally embracing the death that had awaited her shortly ago.

"You are to fix me." he coughed bitterly.

That was less painful than the answer she had been conjuring in her mind. It was still a frightening prospect, however. Not because she probably couldn't do what he commanded of her; on the contrary, she had no doubt whatever ailed him could be easily cured with a quick session under her professional scrutiny. What made Penelope anxious was how this big brute had originally been aware of her mechanical abilities. At least she no longer had to wonder abroad why she was important to the metal behemoth.

"I will, on one condition." Penelope tried with a half-grin, half-grimace.

"You will receive no conditions. You will be grateful you are alive and you will do as you're told."

"Or I could leave you here to die from whatever's bugging you. We can make this a win-win situation if you get down from off your high horse and approach me on my level."

It was an empty threat. He could have made her do whatever he so well pleased. If he wanted her to dance, she would dance. If he wanted her to jump, she would jump. If he demanded she fix him, she would. But not to the best of her ability: which is what he acquired above all else. Her compliance was what would either save him or destroy him; he very much would have preferred to listen to a silly bargaining chip presented from the human rather than lose his life in the process of his pride at work.

"Continue." he said, in what was dripping with sarcastic appeal to hear her speech.

"Okay, I lied; two conditions."

Barricade lowered his helm in a threatening glare.

"Only two, I promise. First, is that you provide me with as many answers as you can. I don't think that's much to ask, and I'll make them easy. No "meaning of life" shit, just basic facts that will make my life easier."

It was an easy enough request to fulfill. Besides; he could just as easily lie. He had no trepidations about deceiving a race he saw as inferior.

"Secondly," Penelope continued, thinking she was on a roll considering she had not yet been met with opposition, "I want clothes; it's winter, God damn it. I don't know if your skin – metal, whatever – feels temperature, but _my_ skin does. Some sweats would be great."

"Clothing is fine. Your answers may be sought. I shall retrieve your necessities... eventually." Barricade deftly avoided directly stating he would explain all she asked. He wasn't in the mood to argue, so he merely swiveled around once more so that his back was facing her, and decided to pretend she didn't exist for the time being. His repairs could wait for a later date; he had not recharged in several months, and he was looking forward to a swift schedule of resting his overheating systems.

Of course, Penelope had no idea what was going through his processor, and wasn't apt for uncomfortable silences like a Decepticon was. "Okay, I'm fine with waiting. Hypothermia's bullshit anyways, right?"

He was either doing a great job ignoring her sarcasm or was so close to the edge of a psychopathic rage that his sole reprieve was a stony silence.

"So tell me a little about yourself." she suggested.

Barricade was astroseconds away from ending her miserable existence with a decisive shot from his ion blaster.

"I don't know what I did to give you the illusion we're under a pretense of a relationship where we interact verbally, and I apologize for the misconception." Barricade snarled in one, large breath. It would have been impressive for a human, but considering the mech didn't breathe, it was an easy feat for him to accomplish the dressing down of the woman in that one abusive string of words.

Penelope went undeterred, and although she was hurt, that didn't stop her from retaliating. "No wonder you're alone; I couldn't think of a single idiot that would willingly stick around as long as I have."

Barricade stiffened. "I am alone for far different reasons." he replied cryptically. It was not said with the intent of receiving sympathy, or pity. It was merely a fact, as though the giant were commenting on the fairness of spring weather.

But Penelope didn't let him drop the topic. She silently walked to his side, imagining that she felt more confident and less self-conscious then she was, and stopped when she assumed she had gone far enough. She was directly across from Barricade, but with a preferable amount of distance separating the pair. The brunette sat. She then looked up at her savior.

"You're not alone." Penelope explained.

"I suppose because I have _you _I'm considered fortunate in terms of companions." he sneered.

"See: with that sparkling personality, you'll make friends instantly. It's just a matter of putting yourself out there to the public. The pleasure would be all theirs."

The small growl that lifted the mech's baritone to a threatening gesture of his impatience was his response.

"I was kidding," she soothed nervously, "Come on, no one's alone. Why do you think you are?"

"It is not a physiological disability I suffer with, flesh creature. I am stating my current reality."

"Oh."

He wasn't ideal in making conversation, and Penelope knew that if she wanted to keep their interactions continuous she would have to provide the means to do so.

"Then you are alone. How long have you been so?"

"Several of your years."

By "your", she supposed his alien kind had a different means of determining the passage of time.

"What have you done in your spare time?"

"Wait."

"For who?"

That Penelope had immediately assumed it was _someone _he was waiting for, was peculiar enough for Barricade to move his cranium so that he had a better view of her prone form sitting not far from his. It was the first time he had acknowledged that she had willingly moved so close to him. It was an odd display of feelings – not affection, but a buried need to be closer to those she corresponded with.

"I was left here by my people, for I was injured and unable to travel." he confessed.

"They didn't make more of an effort?"

"My kind does not expend effort on those they see as unsalvageable." he growled bitterly.

"But you survived whatever was wrong with you in the first place; shame on them."

Yes, shame on the Decepticon's for having figured he would not recover from the devastating crash he had succumbed to outside the limits of Mission City. Barricade shared a rare moment of smugness with himself before resorting back to the emotionless façade that had leaked into his actual feelings. The perfect soldier, those ignorant ranks within Megatron's army used to call him. Those stupid enough to call him such to his visage mysteriously vanished not long afterwards.

"Who are your people, exactly?"

"The Decepti—Cybertronian's." he said instead, interrupting himself before he finished the developed name of his respective faction. To his weathered audios, the name of the Decepticons was becoming dull, lifeless. Nothing more than a name, no longer a sentient title for those with hopes of a better future for Cybertron. A mask pursued by murderers and smelt-eaters.

"So there _are _more like you?" Penelope asked, wide-eyed. She was surprised she was taking the discovery of a new species with such stride. She could see herself breaking down about this at one of the most unexpected moments in their forthcoming adventures: so was her range of luck.

"There used to be many. Now there are few."

"You're a dying race." she breathed.

Barricade almost reprimanded her. Yes, he was a part of a dying race, and it was because of her ill-begotten species that this was true. But the child was not to blame – a different, guiltier human was at fault in this case.

"The death of one of our kind now brings upon great sorrow, when we once thought nothing of dispensing several choice soldiers to further our cause." Barricade was hardly sickened by the thought, despite that he knew from experience that he should be. War had hardened him to a mock representation of the perfect soldier he so detested being considered. Sometimes, the truth was hardest to accept when it was the most obvious. Hence, he avoided such self-considering honesty.

Penelope breathed heavily from out her nostrils, rubbing her open palms furiously up and down her bare legs. Those sweats she had on mind were sounding awful great right about now. But she wasn't about to pass off this opportunity in order to put in another request for clothing when a wealth of information about a culture unbeknownst to her was obtainable.

"Who are you fighting against in this war?"

"Other Cybertronian's."

"Alright, a civil war. Care to elaborate?"

There was a tense moment for the couple when Barricade rose to his peds. Penelope wordlessly was mulling over a will she never had the opportunity to make a draft of while he was expecting to have to pursue and subdue her in an unnecessary chase.

Neither performed any egregious action towards the other, thankfully. So Barricade was able to peacefully leave her alone as he stormed into the cover of the forest.

"Hey, wait! Where are you going?" For a moment, Penelope was haunted by this past phrase she had uttered before being harshly thrown into an unnatural adulthood.

A droplet of rain pierced the edge of her nose, and she blinked in surprise as her skin gratefully soaked in the moisture. She looked up, to meet another pellet of atmosphere and blink once more as it connected with her forehead. The vague blue sky she had awoken to had dulled to a waxen grey, and its succulent, plump children were teeming with pounds of rain already leaking from the folds of the clouds. The forest was as barren as the atmosphere, colorless except for the differentiating lights and shadows distinguishing Life from Death. The only creature she found to be alive other than herself was the looming robot answering her cry.

"You need clothes. The weather is not fit for your lack thereof. I will return shortly."

Penelope clutched her knees to her chest in a desperate fetal position as the drops became more frequent, and her temperature dramatically cooled off. A chill crept the length of her spine. She gave him a thumbs-up to concede with his proposition. Unable to control her innards, however, an insane instance ensued where she barked out a harsh, grating laugh and whipped her head up to make eye contact with the beast.

"When I'm nervous, my mind zips around like a junkie behind the wheel of a Lexus. Why am I not nervous around you anymore?" Penelope asked frantically, as if she were forever losing her opportunity to see into his thought process. Before he could either answer or walk away to leave her wondering, her head swiveled around so that it was facing forward as she pondered, "Are you even real? God, I'm insane."

Barricade wasn't about to argue with that. He took a step away.

But she didn't want to be alone. He couldn't leave her.

She tried to garner his attention, resorting to extremities such as feelings she preferred to keep private: "You know, for a second back when, you reminded me of a character of Clint Eastwood."

The Saleen did an instantaneous research on the topic and came back with such explanations as "Million Dollar Baby" and "Perhaps the icon of macho movie stars, and a living legend."

"I don't understand."

"You're cold, calculating, detached; you always seem, despite these qualities, to do the right thing at the right time. Plus you seem like you have your fair share of regrets." Penelope didn't add that his comment, "I will return shortly," meant the world to her, while simultaneously scared her. She hadn't heard such a promise since her adolescent years, and had never thought she was prone to hearing it again. She was also frightened because she hadn't heard a truthful version of such words since she was younger.

Another drop slid down her face, but it was not the result of the storm clouds overhead.

"You need clothes." Barricade answered, as though this were the reason her mental deficiency - dependence, he was intimidated to admit - was becoming prominent. He left without a word, instead spending a margin of time on the pursuit of information on this "Clint Eastwood" character, if anything, just to keep him preoccupied from the more serious issues facing him ahead.

Penelope said quietly, with a secretive smile touching her lips, "See you soon, Clint."


	4. 4

_First off, thank you for your correction, **Standout4Christ**, I'm terrible with certain punctuations and I'm happy to see someone so thoroughly interested as to _find _a mistake! Woohoo!_

_Also, a small warning: the following Chapter does contain descriptive violence, so if that sort of prospect scares you, then just skim or skip :)_

_Enjoy!_

_

* * *

_

_"After fighting, everything else in your life got the volume turned down."_

_- The Narrator, Fight Club (1999)_

* * *

Police sirens shrieked in warning to the innocent bystanders of the high speed freeway chase as a Saleen came barreling down the rows of white, stripped lines. No vehicle, small or large, was safe from the might of this raging ton of carbon fiber ripping through the sea of constant flux, ramming when it was and wasn't necessary to continue effectively outrunning his pursuer.

_Where could you possibly run?_

Barricade screamed into a lane already occupied by a red sedan, bullying its terrified human driver into the bumpy knoll of the median separating the opposing flows of traffic. Sheer will defeated the overworked pistons of the black and white interceptor as he accelerated to impossible speeds, embarrassing the other users of the fast lane as he forced them off his road.

His yellow pursuer was more prudent, but equally as fast, and it soon became apparent that the Saleen was evenly matched by the Camaro in terms of mechanical prowess. The dark Decepticon had the humans to his advantage, as they were easily manipulated to his purpose of escape; unfortunately, the meat bags had by now foreseen their danger around the maniacal police 'officer', and each time he approached a newcomer in this makeshift arena, they had the common sense to veer frantically away.

Suddenly, sharp pain seared through his right quarter panel as Bumblebee rammed him nearly into a lethal fishtail. With a snarl, the fleeing Decepticon righted himself with the skill only a Cybertronian harbored and redirected a wild course to the opposite side of the highway. He grazed a semi, T-boned a Datsun, devastated a white Escalade and its family of four, all the while barely garnering a scratch upon his glossy multicolored paint. Finally, he dominated the far right lane (a truck the last casualty as it was tipped treacherously over the guardrail, punishment for its near defiance in permitting him between the lines) and raced for the nearest exit.

Barricade, followed closely by his rival, flew onto the closest ramp and poured all five hundred horses available of his limited Earth power into the resulting curve of the exit, scanning hastily gathered blueprints of the area to retrieve a safe place to transform. A business center nearby was unlit and eerily quiet. Its parking lot was deserted except for a blue Ford and a generic moped, hopefully because their owners had carpooled with another group. Hopefully, because Barricade didn't plan on leaving survivors as he entered the complex and severely applied his brakes. Using the momentum of tens of miles of racing to propel his body onward, he jerked out of his alternative mode with engine still revving in preparation for further travel.

Legs forged from the rear of the Saleen and hydraulics pulled from the POLICE-imprinted sides, Barricade completed his transformation with a violent swiveling towards the Camaro still hot in pursuit, bits and pieces clicking together conclusively as the Decepticon met his transforming, charging foe with braced gyro flails.

Bumblebee barely lunged out of the oncoming projectile of his enemy's main weapon as he was caught off guard, but in managing to do so was granted an important advantage as Barricade struggled to turn to reroute his next attack. The yellow mech never halted from his lunge, and in doing so sped to retaliate physically. The pair collided harshly and went sprawling into the asphalt of the business lot, thrashing and battering for an ideal position in the brawl. Bumblebee aimed a fist for the processor of his foe in approximate unison with Barricade's attempt to stab forward with his rim. The couple forced their opponent away with the proceeding smites and created a small, yet significant, amount of distance.

"You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you, Autobot?" Barricade demanded bitterly, his several pairs of optics never deterring their attention from the piercing gaze of the cerulean orbs intent on him.

The Autobot grunted breathlessly as he pushed himself to his peds, taking several steps back to not press in on Barricade yet maintaining an acceptable proximity for a tackle should it be necessary. "What were you doing in a residential neighborhood? Looking for a captive?"

Barricade wasn't about to admit he already had one at his disposal, and so instead focused on rerouting his enemy's attention by taking a step to the side. His plan was partially effective, for Bumblebee immediately stooped into an offensive position and reversed the Decepticon's action. Soon the pair circled each other, looking for an opening to attack to proceed in their reunion.

"How did you find me?" the police interceptor inquired heatedly, fangs baring in a wordless, ugly snarl at the memory of the scout's sudden intrusion on his personal business.

"We could play twenty questions all night or, and I'm required to suggest this: you can accept defeat peacefully."

All the lone Saleen knew was that his question had not been answered, and this greatly annoyed him. Having no knowledge of the former "twenty questions" accusation and certainly not injured enough to yet give in to the latter suggestion, Barricade instead hurled his gyro flail towards his aggravating rival as a continuous ilk of distraction. As expected, the Autobot swiftly caught the chain as it clinked past him, the dangerous end of the weapon hanging limply now from the yellow mech's grip.

With a "_clang_" and a harrowing chuckle on Barricade's part, Bumblebee went down hard onto the cracked, antiquated asphalt of the lot; the sinister Saleen began to retract his second flail back to his free hand, then struggled to draw in the first, captured one.

The Autobot, despite his sudden lack of vertigo, held fast to the chain and even managed to execute a small amount of discombobulated strength into tugging on the links. He wrenched heavily, and with his downed weight, led Barricade into an awkward tailspin as the Saleen tried to right himself but merely stumbled about in a free fall.

Bumblebee pulled himself upright, savagely battling gravity despite several dislodged circuit boards, in order to conquer the threat that had injured him with the grave blow. The frayed circuits that had been assaulted by the gyro flail snapped and hissed with misplaced energy, negatively affecting the surrounding processor with their ominous twisting dance. A pained grunt accompanied Bumblebee's efforts, yet against his morose odds, he was able to prudently prop himself onto a single, albeit wobbly, knee. However, he wasn't fast enough to avoid the advancing Decepticon focused intently on his permanent downfall.

With hardly a blink Barricade smashed the palm of his claw across the visage of his enemy and watched gleefully as he hit the ground once more.

"Pathetic Autobot." he sneered, grappling the stolen link of his gyro flail out of his enemy's loose hold and greedily sucking it back into its compartment. As if to uphold his point, Barricade threw a powerful kick into his rival's abdomen and enjoyed a slight instance of watching the creature squirm. But he grew tired of the childish antics behind such meaningless torture. As opposed to Autobot propaganda, he wasn't constantly in the mood to be a bloodthirsty killing machine, and he had a female to return to.

Of course, he always had an extra helping of stereotypical bloodlust for _special _cases, and so exhausted it gladly. For good measure and eventual function, the Decepticon pressed his ped onto the helm of the Autobot to keep him grounded – flailing limbs he could tolerate, but as soon as a processor was put into battle the fights immediately grew more complex. He preferred mindless bloodshed over structured exchanges – and he planned to utilize the Autobot's emotions to fulfill this purpose.

"Get your foot off me." the grounded Autobot snarled, audio antenna's peeled back in a threatening, almost animalistic, gesture of impending violence.

"It forever astounds me how the Prime sends you for missions." Barricade deadpanned, as if completely deaf to the commands of his victim. His mocking faceplate inched downwards to provoke deep rage within what he knew was an emotionally struggling Autobot. No soldier liked being told that their cause in a war was for shit. "I was no doubt one of them, and will become one of the hundreds of other failures you've 'accomplished' in your years of mediocre scouting."

Bumblebee's optics spiraled in to narrow slits, tens of hundreds of microscopic optical ridges within the lens clicking anxiously at the close quarters with one another; then quickly back out to wide, angered orbs. It was not the verbal jest that upset him, but rather the underlying derision centered towards his revered leader. The pain atop his strained cranium didn't subdue his temper, either.

"Get your foot off me." he growled with renewed abhorrence, straining his optics to glance upwards at his vengeful foe.

Barricade shoved down onto the Autobot spitefully, talons clenched in wicked curves as he grinned down at his prey. "Prime always sends the least worthy into battle, doesn't he? Cannon fodder, I'm sure he considers the lot of you."

Bumblebee flinched, his supraorbital ridges lowering, nearly to the point of being perfectly diagonal, in a hateful glare as his turned visage took in the sight of the gloating mech above him. His patience drew to an end, his tolerance extinguished. He tested the pressure applied to him. His doors twitched as he minutely pulled up and realized with dark delight that the Decepticon was distracting himself with his own speech.

He provoked him one last time. "_Get your foot off of me._"

Barricade did too well in terms of retaliation: "How well Prime does at manipulating you Autobot's; how many have pointlessly died because of him and his _'ideals_'? Plenty of your _friends_, and I can vouch for that."

The Autobots leg swung up in a wide arch, knocking away the restricting limb anchoring him down and clipping the black opponent in the torso. Barricade was sent sprawling in the opposite direction of his foe and Bumblebee did not make a second folly by hesitating. His riled emotions would not have permitted mercy in the succeeding onslaught, anyways.

Barricade hardly had time to stand upright before a blur of yellow flew into him with all the rage and unrelenting power of an out-of-control locomotive. The black mech had the foresight to dodge one, perhaps two, punches before he felled victim to his own, cruel game. Barricade fueled himself off of his idealistic brainless violence, but he soon found himself choking on a juggernaut of the state of mind. Blunt, dulled fingers suddenly turned sharp with vengeance. Bumblebee ripped into his opponent as thoroughly and effectively as scissors to the feathery material of paper. Energon spattered the couple as Bumblebee met fuel lines in his ongoing pursuit of the Decepticon bastards spark; he sliced through more important connections the more feverish he grew with infuriation.

Barricade was not to be so easily swept aside. Fangs snapped out like a wild beast presented with meat and talons shot out like an eagle sweeping for its scaled food. Bumblebee remained with the upper hand throughout the brutal fight, but he received for his madness equally as gruesome bloody gouges and horrific dents plastered randomly about his frame. Neither was a pretty sight.

Their energon mixed in sprays and droplets as they clawed for each other's proverbial throats, and once combined the life fluid from black and yellow, Decepticon and Autobot, was indistinguishable.

By sheer dumb luck, Barricade was the first to fall. He had the highest tolerance for pain between the pair, but Bumblebee had gotten a head start. At first the yellow mech slowed, no longer finding happiness in the feel of destroyed metal beneath his fingertips. At this point, the police interceptor had doubled his exertion, but seconds remained before suddenly, all fighting ceased. Blue and red optics met silently as the panting combatants waited for the death of either; both were too tired to personally determine which one would fall.

Barricade swaggered, then, with streams of energon leaking from numerous cuts. These and buffeted dents as sculpted as valleys relayed what had been a mortifying exchange between two age old enemies.

Barricade toppled, then, and was offline before he hit the ground.

At first Bumblebee thought he had finally done away with the gruesome warrior, and found a neutral glaze coating his spark. But a further diagnostics reading revealed to the yellow mech that, no, his rival had simply been so fatigued – wounded - from the fighting that he had literally fallen into an emergency stasis lock.

The Autobot said nothing, only looked at the apparent recharging heap before him.

It would be so simple.

None of the other's would know.

Another Decepticon found mutilated by unknown means – not the first time politics had leaked into the professional, spotless society his kind's governments had fabricated. He could wait for his nanos to get the worst of the damage and then approach Optimus with the feigned ignorance of a stupid child who has crushed the house cat's head with his boot and struggles to cover the dumb animal's existence.

_I found him like this, Optimus. I don't know what happened. I realize that suicide is not a likely prospect; look at his frame. His faction left him here for a reason we have yet to discover, sir; perhaps they briefly returned to tie up loose ends._

No one would lament the death of one of the most dreaded Decepticons in their history, not even Barricade's own.

Bumblebee sighed, brushing away these insights and lies to better ignore the scary truth that surfaced with them, the self-realization. He turned away from the body and limped on, never looking back except once. And it only took that one instance to make him stop. He looked at the pathetic remains of his Decepticon rival and sighed exasperatedly.

He hated knowing that someone would lament Barricade's death.

He hated being that single mech.


	5. 5

_Wow. A whole month since an update. I'll prepare the pitchforks and torches, valuable readers. But in all honesty, I do apologize. But it's most likely better this way; otherwise you'd all get something gross and half-assed, and this way we get a new installment I'm proud of for this fiction._

_Again, thanks for the patience, my attention span (or lack thereof) is still no excuse!_

_This is a significant Chapter; almost as much as Chapter Ten, a forthcoming addition that I'm excited for. And you all should be, too; anyone remember a certain evil Dodge Charger from this series?_

* * *

_"I wish I knew how to quit you!"_

_- Jack, Brokeback Mountain (2005)_

_

* * *

_

Convincing himself that he was dragging Barricade's mutilated corpse through brush and foliage at the dawn of an approaching morn because he didn't want the frame discovered on human property was an outright lie; but it made him feel better about his actions.

He dragged the carcass of what was supposed to have been a finished enemy through the tree line of the forest he had quickly come upon. The business park they had redecorated was in full view from the highway where their confrontation began, making sightings a dangerous possibility. But the proximity of park and way provided not just another source of outage for the Cybertronian race. The closeness provided the opportunity of putting as much distance as Bumblebee felt appropriate between him and this severely complicating problem; an added bonus, for the further he could run from where he eventually would deposit the Decepticon, the better.

The quiet woods he now limped into had been the scenic border for the lot. His luck was usually far worse; he did not jinx this stroke of helpful kismet by questioning the convenience the coverage provided. A quick getaway and a great hiding spot.

Anyone less guilt-ridden could not have asked for more.

The oblivious yellow mech was unaware Barricade's destination had been this exact tree line. Fate had a funny way of bringing together those whose lives were destined to cross.

Bumblebee sneezed softly as pollen from the neighboring shrubs, bushes, and assortment of plants framing the roots of the proud birches, sent out their thick clouds as though in greeting to the gargantuan. Unbeknownst to the soldier, his small expulsion of the invasive atmosphere masked a rustling not far from his continuously moving position.

During a momentary hiatus of the Autobot's haul, he straightened his taut spinal cord and gazed about this new environment with curiosity only a scout could muster during such an event. The white birches he had already identified were slim, but numerous, and closed in with their pasty bark on the inviting yellow of their visitor. The branches were relieved of leaves and pregnant with snow, or in some instances, sheets of glassy ice. Winter had touched this region before the season could affect the rest of the state, and this meant no human in their right mind would willingly venture here. Another relief Bumblebee should have tallied up on his scoreboard of successes, but his guilt did not vanish at the thought of even the safety of this planet's primary population. Instead, he gazed upon this white beauty with loathing, for it patronized him with its aforementioned sights. All the glistening snow dew and gentle zephyrs could not alleviate the shame of having lost control, and the painful recognition that his lack of self-constraint had been directed at one he had once considered a brother.

Bumblebee lowered his helm to silently examine the unconscious Saleen. He was just as gruesome and fierce in stasis lock as he was on the battlefield, and this should have lessened the Autobot's pity: seeing the abominable visage of one who had murdered thousands. Instead, his resolve crumbled and he could only look upon his enemy with further, deeper, regret.

"You could have been a great Autobot." Bumblebee murmured, fixing his servos beneath the hydraulics of his audience as he continued the trek.

"You were a great warrior." He took a large heave backwards and the Decepticon body obediently dragged along the ice-speckled forest floor.

"You were the perfect soldier." There was an occasional crunch as the remnants of a December day went underfoot the pair. Bumblebee distracted himself with dialogue to batter away the creeping darkness, the lurking memories encircling his processor, but mostly the guilt: the fragging _guilt_.

"You were a legend. Now you're a disgrace. And you're dragging me down with you, just like old times; you're the only one of Megatron's army I wanted to kill with my own servos and here we are, thousands of years later, and I'm sick to death of the fighting, yet I still can only imagine using my own servos to finish you."

The conclusion of his soliloquy brought Bumblebee to a quiet, lonely, eerily appropriate clearing. The bugs and their songs ceased; mammals rustling through underbrush froze in alarm; owls brought a conclusion to their hunt and nightingales gracefully finished their last note as the Autobot's footsteps came to a rest in their sanctuary.

For a lingering moment, he relished the silence. Countless millennia of war and bloodshed rarely granted him such peace, such tranquility. And so he took advantage of being able to step into this realm and enjoy what he had always envisioned for Cybertron.

Once he had had his fill he dumped the body on the far side of the clearing, farthest from the highway he could hear; an omnipresent rush of traffic and honk of irritated home-goers was not far in the distance. He cocked his audios in that direction to be safe, but expected no trouble as he stooped towards the Decepticon body, hydraulic outstretched to rest upon the side of the Saleen.

A twig cracked and a hiss materialized from the opposite tree line. The yellow mech jerked in the direction of the ghostly utterances, waiting for the emergence of whatever had revealed its presence.

The atmosphere remained as deadened as when he had appeared.

With one last, surreptitious glance at the initial area of his stalker, the Autobot finished fiddling with the panel he had accessed on his foe's frame before straightening.

"There. We're even." he reassured the rebooting corpse dully. As the silent night loomed about him, he almost missed the crash of artillery, the steady boom of firing machinery, the monotonous beat of clashing metal he had previously condemned. On the battlefield he knew his purpose with no doubt or questions to interfere with his duties. Here, he was penetrated by bouts of uncertainty and ravaged by guilt he was normally accomplished at burying.

Suddenly eager to escape back to the presence of mankind and the distraction provided by entertaining the species, Bumblebee slunk away from his rival, still slowed by his profound gimp, and retraced his steps through the forest. Silence followed him for the rest of the journey to civilization, silence he was beginning to despise.

* * *

She had stomped along, the epitome of poorly honed spying skills, after the big alien robot dragging Barricade towards where she and her savior had been nestled before.

So many questions had pervaded her already overworked mind. What had happened to Barricade? Did this other Cybertronian have something to do with his apparent knock-out, or was it aiding him? Had Barricade told this stranger of their hiding place, or did it steal the information, or was this just a terrible coincidence? Was she in any further kind of danger?

She felt as though some of these questions could have been answered with a word or two from this newcomer, but all that met Penelope's ears was the crackle of a language as complicated as Barricade's moods; which was unfortunate, because the yellow creature (based on the electrical currents swimming from its gasket) seemed to be talking_ a lot_.

Regardless, along she had crept, using any sort of vegetation as protection from what she immediately had to distinguish as a threat. She had been not about to take chances.

But as she had stalked the giant creature, her nerves had grown more and more relaxed, a sort of familiar trustworthiness enveloping her with warmth and reassurance. An odd case of déjà vu had tackled the girl, wrestling her into a state of confusion she was very readily growing tired of in her adventures thus far. She had never seen this yellow automaton in her life; yet, the familiarity she was so quickly developing towards the thing was too easily distinguishable to ignore.

So she trampled along in the tracks of these two aliens, too shy to approach but too curious to dive for a hole.

She followed them to the clearing and did her best to remain elusive, although while working her way towards the other side of the forest break she had made one mistake – a mistake that could have proved lethal.

A bare foot met a small branch that cracked sharply under the unnatural pressure, and the succeeding cut from the broken wood forced a low curse from the recesses of her throat.

The yellow fiend, previously oblivious (or not) to a third presence, by then wasn't stupid enough to so blatantly set aside a disturbance of such magnitude. It turned, and whether it knew it or not, made eye contact with the cowering female shivering naked amidst the bushes of the tree line. She was surprisingly calm during their first encounter – most likely because of the color of its orbs, an inviting shade of blue that very nearly welcomed her into the open. She did hesitate, however, and it lost interest, turning back towards Barricade to finish what it had been tinkering with at his side. It left soon after, and Penelope could breathe aloud once more.

It wasn't that she had been scared; but it was not time to start introducing herself to others' of her captor's species when she was still trying to establish a working relationship with the one.

"C-Clint?" the young woman whispered loudly in the direction of the unmoving black mech, resorting to his given nickname to better ease her sense of… wrongness. Something was making her uneasy about the stranger's blue optics, no matter how friendly they had appeared to her untrained gawk.

"You awake, Eastwood? You can't leave me here alone for the wolves."

Penelope took an awkward step forward, a brown leg protruding from the green of her surroundings.

"Again."

She shuffled forward another couple of steps, testing to see if her guardian was teasing her.

"Asshole."

When there was no response to her explicit term of endearment, she raced the rest of the distance between them to be at his foot. Somehow, she was comforted knowing that he was safe, albeit still; on the other hand, she could have mistook the feeling of comfort for that of appreciation of the fact that she was protected by the body of the biggest baddy in the area.

Either way, she patted the monstrous ankle as one did a pet, knowing he wasn't "awake" to scold her, and tried to diagnose whatever was ailing the felled Cybertronian by staring at his empty visage.

Whatever had shut him down had done an especially good job. The problem she was struggling with currently was whether or not the job had been _permanent_.

"Clint, you asleep?"

No answer.

"Oh no! I'm escaping!"

Still no response.

Penelope pursed her lips in mild frustration. At this rate, one of those proverbial wolves would have been far more useful.

Partaking in another test of his sincerity, she took a couple of steps away. Barricade's faceplates resumed their impassive, yet intimidating, exterior. She ran the next few steps, but the Decepticon continued as was.

Escape, she realized, wasn't a far-fetched notion. Barricade was completely dead to the world – perhaps, as she had already surmised, permanently.

She shrugged and turned towards the large path the enormous limping stranger had vanished down. With a surprising lack of regret, she left behind the hulking black mech and continued a decent length into the bowels of the woods.

She stooped in her halt at the base of a glimmering tool she had seen slip out of the grill of her Saleen companion along the makeshift road, while it had been in the process of construction. She wrapped gentle digits about the wrench and appreciated its weight in her palm as she returned to a stand, releasing a breath of chill air through her nostrils.

She turned back towards the clearing, only hesitating once more at the edge to inspect her captor.

Penelope walked forward, confident in her decision, although muttering in the forthcoming presence of her patient, "You owe me a _lot _of booze."


	6. 6

_Disclaimer: I thought it pretty useless for me to state that I don't own Transformers, because otherwise this would be published, yes? But I will acknowledge the opening scene of this Chapter as not belonging to me, but rather the several creators of _"The Reign of Starscream" _comic, and that we're merely novelizing a flashback to those events for the sake of plot. I would also like to thank WordComposer for her assistance in the beginning of this chapter; now if only I could motivate her to continue her 'fic; as well as Kiba-The-Life-Guardian_ and _FictionEnforcer__, for giving me the ambition to post more!_

_Author's Note: The set up for this story is atrociously long. I'm sorry, but action and drama will be rearing their fun little heads soon enough!_

* * *

"_I love waking up in the morning not knowing what's gonna happen or, who I'm gonna meet, where I'm gonna wind up."_

_- Jack, Titanic (1997)_

* * *

"_Where is—kzzt—is Megatron? Prime and the Auto—kzzt—bots have the Allspark."_

_He quivered anxiously upon the pocketed dirt of the pass he had sought refuge under. Even with the Decepticon Air Commander approaching he could not raise his helm from its perch upon his chest. Speaking was impressive enough – moving was out of the question._

_He was recuperating, however. Despite that every time he flinched globs of hot energon gushed from cracks and crevices dotted haphazardly about his frame, despite that he could stare down at his abdomen and find nothing but a warbled, bleeding mess of vitals and shrapnel, he was recuperating. There was something to be said for the mech's resilience, if anything. _

_The second in command hardly stopped for a congratulatory insult upon stooping down. He gave a quick scan, an intrusive search, of the survivor's systems before pressing his visage into that of the severely injured soldier's blank countenance._

"_Yes, I know." he spat impatiently. "When can I consider you functional?"_

You're useless to me offline_, Barricade substituted Starscream's choice words. At least he was tactful._

"_Shortly." he lied, avoiding looking directly into the orange-tinted glare of the demanding SIC. "My energon lev—kzzt—levels are recharging."_

_Not an outright lie, as his suggested timeframe for healing had been. He would survive. But 'shortly' was a placating hyperbole to assure Barricade's continued existence. He only could hope that Starscream's scan over him had not revealed that which he was attempting to hide: his slow recovery. A slow soldier was a useless soldier. A useless soldier was a dead soldier._

"_If the Allspark were here," the black mech forced out blandly, as though his forthcoming recommendation were not necessary, was not crucial to making sure his energon levels didn't decide to plunge in a nosedive, "They w—zzt—would charge a lot faster."_

"_The Allspark is gone. The human boy destroyed it, along with Megatron. You and I are all that remain."_

_All hope, crushed in a single statement. His rage surged. He didn't know where to direct his blame, could only seethe in the pathetic clump Ironhide had reduced him to. The Earth, the Autobots, his enemies, his allies – all were at fault. But then he refocused his attentions inward, and didn't like the probability of him having played a role in the destruction of one of Cybertrons' most prized artifacts. If he had reached the Witwicky boy sooner..._

_He unconsciously tried to make amends, tried to soothe the ache of knowing that his partaking in the war had finally brought destruction upon something he could claim he valued – had valued; "We have det—zzt—ailed files on the boy. Frenzy stole and stored data before from the humans. If he were here, he could access them."_

_And suddenly, Starscream was no longer the second in command. He relieved himself as the lowly subordinate of the Decepticon leader and _was _the leader. Whether or not the black mech should have felt threatened by this turn of events remained to be seen. All he knew was that when Starscream went to leave, Barricade had no Allspark, no hope, and no properly functioning systems. He certainly didn't want to be alone, on top of it all._

"_Where are you going, _Starscream_?"_

"_To save us all, Barricade."_

_A beat as the Seeker's optics narrowed. _

"_And that's _Lord _Starscream."_

* * *

He awoke to a blurry roach carelessly skittering over vitals sensitive and accessible from his abdomen. In an uncharacteristic panic, his optics onlined in a startling blast of crimson. His alarm was unseated as he discovered the supposed parasite was only the female.

A new scare arose, however. The full extent of his internal damage became evident with the one word he tried to force out in a snarl: "Gir—zzt—rl!"

Suddenly, with that electrical shortage, that misdirection of spooling energy, that "zzt", death was a viable outcome. He recalled how close he had come when his vocals began to short-circuit those months ago, in the presence of _Lord _Starscream. Back then it had meant that whatever internal problem that had arisen was slowly, lethally, creeping towards his central processor, leveraging its deadly self up through the back of his throat. It meant the same thing presently.

"Morning, handsome. Don't worry, you're safe." she reassured him.

He choked on the irony of her promise.

And then, for a terrifying moment, he lost control. He shot up, unconscious of the scream elicited from Penelope as she was bucked to the ground. He clawed ferociously at his throat, where he knew most of the damage originated from. He groped the component desperately, talons gouging relentlessly at the complicated circuitry within, as though he could stop further mutilation by combating it with more.

"Hey, hey, whoa! What are you doing?" she called up, almost as panicked as he was.

He froze at the echo of her voice. He jerked his head in her direction, the cranium tilting slowly as though she were a foreign virus not yet confronted. He then bore down on her with outstretched, dulled digits. She stood her ground – a thoughtless move, in hindsight. He readjusted himself to stoop fully in her direction, slamming enormous claws on each side of her fixated position.

The roar that bellowed, harsh and grating against the damaged interior of his throat, reverberated through her eardrums with its ghastly power. "What have you done?"

She trembled. Her hands quivered with hardly suppressed emotion as she raised them meagerly. It wasn't a gesture of protection, but rather of condolence; as though she had influence over any ultimatums he was prepared to make. She hadn't witnessed this side of Barricade. She had not yet met a Decepticon. "I didn't do anything." she said, tone deliberate and unwavering, doing an excellent job of masking sheer terror with verbal confidence.

He snorted in derision, the gust of hot air rushing from his facial vents sending a plume of her dark hair cascading behind her. She flinched, but didn't budge.

But suddenly, his sinister visage pulled back and his claws unclenched from the earth they had sheltered in. The memory banks he hadn't given an opportunity to reboot were now slowly restarting, and the first memory he was able to reference showed him the cause for his renewed, egregious injuries: the fight with Bumblebee.

He did not apologize, but instead retreated from over Penelope and fell back on his hindquarters, perched as a dog while he sifted through the chronological events that had rendered him into a laughable state of emergency stasis.

"Wow. Not a morning person?"

"I had a rough night." he supplied unconsciously. Normal circumstances wouldn't have seen him bother with a response: in the best of moods he was hesitant to speak with the human female, and he was not in the best of moods. But amusing her with a reply was becoming perfunctory and, he was discovering, necessary. Not for the sake of her help, but for the sake of his sanity. It was oddly fitting, that they found minimal comfort in each other: she, who couldn't withstand in even the shortest of silences, and he, the silent one.

He dismissed further evaluations of the female. He was often reminding himself that she was a resource to be used and discarded. The idea that she was well on the road to proving more than a tool was ludicrous in every sense of the word.

And so his new train of thought veered towards the bitter hatred swelling for the yellow mech: the mech that dared taunt him with "pity". If ever Barricade had been set on edge from the unprecedented outcome of a situation, this was it. But besides his habitual abhorrence for Bumblebee, he found a growing suspicion consuming his thoughts. If the Autobot brat had kept him online, what were his intentions? What did he mean by sparing his foe?

Barricade wasn't enjoying any thinking process occurring within his cranium, so turned outwards to where Penelope was now rambling happily along. She seemed to not have found lasting insult with his breakdown. In fact, she seemed utterly giddy at his awakening, now that the initial scare following his revival had passed.

"—since early this morning. And I really appreciate the clothes, though how you got them, God only knows. I'm not complaining. Fuck that, I'm warm again."

Barricade glanced down and was surprised to find that his grill – and the cache hidden within it – had been tampered with. Nosy, damnable creature; he hadn't recalled giving her permission to go anywhere about his frame. But he was content to find that she had only smuggled the articles of clothing and a few pieces of equipment from off his person, and hadn't delved further into Frenzy's old storage compartment. His spastic assistant's death was still a sore spot to the black mech.

"—what do you think?"

He returned his gaze to hers. "I wasn't listening; what do I think on what?"

"Well, brownie points for honesty. What do you think of your new repairs: the few that I was able to do?"

Apparently his grill was not the only bodily component she had tampered with. He inspected her work, only then acknowledging key components of his frame that had previously been in jeopardy. He flexed his hydraulics, rolled his shoulders to loosen several over-constricted bolts, and tested his footing by pressing both peds gingerly into the ground. Most of the pain had alleviated, as implied by her suggestion of 'repairs'. His chrono told him hardly a solar cycle had passed since his temporary offlining; only enough time for the simplistic patches he was scrutinizing. It was nice to see that she was smart enough to take advantage of the tools she was provided with – that she had scavenged for. He was hardly impressed by the work itself – to say it was mediocre was a polite exaggeration - but at the least, he was grateful.

Barricade didn't say so outright.

Thinking he was dissatisfied with her service thus far, however, Penelope stumbled through an awkward apology: "I know I wasn't able to do anything about your optics. I hope it doesn't hurt; it looked like the spokes weren't poking anything so I left them alone. I didn't want to do more damage, and besides, I doubt I could successfully get through an eye surgery with a wrench and a…"

The black mech righted from the animalistic stoop he had sustained and stretched further. He felt the female's oculars inspecting him at his great height, and for a moment the Cybertronian returned her stare.

"What?" he snapped. He was uncomfortable with her inspection, for he had seen the same hungry expression on Autobot scientists, once upon a time. He didn't like reminders of any times he had been a POW to the enemy faction.

"I've only seen you upright twice. You have to let me get used to the… giant robot aspect of this whole… thing. You're much less intimidating sitting down."

He cocked a supraorbital ridge as means of a response before turning to better grasp his geographical bearings. He was as still as he was silent while he mapped out the region, its strategic capabilities should he be found, the amount of cover it provided. He continued to be unimpressed.

"Besides, you're like a walking wet dream to engineers. And I hardly know anything about your mechanical composition outside of 'Hey, this looks important'. So I don't know whether to be honored, curious, or scared shitless."

Listening to the female ramble, he was weary to let her near his innards again.

"I guess I'm all of the above."

"And I'm uninterested." Barricade took a large step over Penelope to face the other direction – north – and stood rigid there for a time.

She took his hint and kept quiet, sitting down to patiently wait. She rubbed the length of her arms, which were now toasty in a men's large sweatshirt, and enjoyed the rustle of the woods overhead. A small zephyr swept a portion of her mangy hair over her shoulder, reminding Penelope that a shower was a necessity. She didn't want to imagine Barricade's misery if he had a sense of smell – if so, she was empathetic. Her stomach growled. She needed to get back to civilization, ASAP.

Before she had a chance to complain, however, Barricade turned and scooped her from the stiff ground in a surprisingly agile, fluid motion. He grabbed her so quickly, and with such astonishing grace, that she wasn't given the opportunity to yelp. But besides the surprise of being snatched and lifted ten feet in the air, her captor hadn't thought of pants, so her nearly bare bottom met the stark cold of his hand unprotected. She hissed in protest and gave a slight jolt, shuffling to her knees in his open palm and clutching one of his closer digits.

Barricade didn't pause to allow the female to accustom herself to her new seating. He strode on, south, through the towering bulk of the oaks and maples and deeper into the forest. Penelope, unaware of this, looked up hopefully at the blank countenance of the overhead mech. "Are we going somewhere with a hotel? Heating? Showering capabilities?"

"You're going to tell me how you came to be familiar with the systems of a Cybertronian. My repairs are sublime compared to how I imagined the strenuous work of training you was to be. You are accustomed to our bodies."

Penelope lowered her gaze embarrassedly. "Oops."

"Yes, 'oops'. You will finish your work before I return you to your kind. Until then, we are not far enough to be undetected."

Red flag, red flag, _red flag_. "Fine, great, I get it, I'm a prisoner, but hold your horses, big boy. I'm starving, and unfortunately, I'm not being overdramatic. I'm physically pained. We need to go back and get food, unless you happen to have some human-acceptable sustenance on you. I haven't eaten in a week."

"I haven't had you for a week."

"I wasn't really hungry when I was sinking to my death in a remote, abandoned lake."

Barricade stopped, rather abruptly. If she hadn't been holding onto one of his limbs for dear life, life would have no longer been a variable.

"'Food'?" he repeated disdainfully.

"Grub. Snacks. Meal. Whatever you want to call it, I need it." she explained, rather exasperatedly.

He released another burst of hot air, his own exasperation evident, and reluctantly turned. "You cannot last several more days off your reserves?"

"We don't have reserves. Our stomach acids gobble up anything we digest."

She wasn't sure if this was necessarily true – she had gotten a B- in Human Anatomy and Physiology – but she certainly was too thin to think of surviving off any excess fat.

Barricade must have recognized this, too, because he breathed something about "fragging stick creatures" and "bone bags" before continuing in the opposite direction. The sun beamed proudly from behind a thin veil of fog coating the grey Californian skies, offering marginal warmth to the pair as they stepped from the shadows of the forest.

At his brisk pace, and the little ground he had covered moving south, mere minutes passed before Penelope was surrounded by the sound of highway travel. Within another couple of minutes, they were taking refuge under one of the overpasses harboring the vehicles.

She had never been more relieved to hear the honk and hustle of road rage and afternoon traffic.


End file.
